


Insomium

by GraeWrites



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Nightmares, Season 3, Season 3 Spoilers, Viren was a bad dude and it messed with Soren okay, also Callum is plagued with "what if" about that rescue of Rayla, callum and soren have a lot of baggage now, no intense details that don't follow canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21911395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraeWrites/pseuds/GraeWrites
Summary: Following the events of the final episode of Season 3, both Soren and Callum have their own ghosts that plague them at night. It leads to a surprising conversation between the two of them that neither of them are ready for--but perhaps is an important first step after all.
Relationships: Callum & Soren (The Dragon Prince), Callum/Rayla (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 100





	Insomium

**Author's Note:**

> A fic that has been in my head since finishing season 3 of the Dragon Prince but only now got around to finishing it. First time writing this particular fandom, which is always daunting, so I’d love to hear thoughts! Barely edited, and only by yours truly. All mistakes and typos are mine.

Callum wakes up in a cold sweat, with the taste of his screams still in on his tongue. His hands are trembling against the sheets of his bed. _Bed?_ It takes him a second to realize where he is—back in his room in the castle. Home. Moonlight streams in through his windows and casts the space around him in a soft blue glow. It reminds him, perhaps oddly, of Zym. The reminder is brief, and leaves an odd ache in his chest.

He loosely curls his hands into fists. He remembers the dream this time. He doesn’t always. Rayla’s face getting further and further away from him as he repeats _manus, pluma, volantus_ over and over with increasing desperation but the wings never come. He’s falling. Rayla is falling faster, getting farther and he can’t—

Callum’s eyes sting.

He scrubs a hand down his face and swings his legs over the edge of his bed. He takes in a deep breath that trembles a bit in his lungs before he sets his feet on the hardwood floors and stands up.

It isn’t always Rayla. Sometimes it’s Zym. Or Ezran. Or their mother. Their father. Or the countless faces that were below him on the battlefield. The war cries and screams of pain still reverberate in his skull and Callum is too exhausted to contain the wince that follows. He thinks again of his little brother and reminds himself that Ezran saw much of the same things he did. He is glad that Ezran, at the very least, doesn’t have nightmares.

Callum pads his way to the door and peeks it open into the dark corridor. He’s unsurprised by the three guards that stand outside. After all, Aunt Amaya had insisted, especially with Viren’s body still unrecovered. Callum had tried to explain to her that there was no way he could’ve survived that fall; a statement that Amaya had, in no uncertain terms, told him wasn’t good enough. _We don’t want to take any chances_ , she’d told them.

Callum sighs, opens the door further, and steps out.

The three guards snap to attention. “Prince Callum,” the one in the middle says in greeting.

Callum waves a tired hand in his direction. “Hey,” he replies. “I’m… hungry. I’m going to get a bite to eat from the kitchen.”

“We will accompany you.”

Callum holds up his hands. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.” He can see the conflicted look in the guards’ eyes and Callum draws a glowing sigil in the air in an effort to remind them that he is not without the ability to protect himself. He waves a hand to dispel the sigil without saying the trigger word, and releases a breath of relief at the guards’ reluctant but affirming nod.

Callum pinches the bridge of his nose as he makes his way through the network of corridors to the kitchen. It feels… weird, to be home right now. Last time Callum had been home had been a lifetime ago, in a rush and under attack. Still believing that his father was alive. Being back in this space without his dad is a constant reminder of his absence. Callum remembers, not for the first time, that Ezran had been here somewhere around a week ago by himself. He wonders if it was hard for Ezran too.

The surrounding silence that seems to cling to the stone walls like moss doesn’t help either. Lots of people had survived the battle at the Storm Spire, but not everybody, and much of the army and soldiers that had occupied the castle had fallen under the direction of Viren. The walls echo with the weight of everyone that was lost, and it leaves Callum feeling a little bit lost too.

The kitchen, mercifully, isn’t a far walk. Callum finds himself turning the corner and pressing through the door to find a platter of jelly tarts awaiting him on the counter. Despite himself, he smiles, and reminds himself that he really ought to thank Barius. Callum quietly makes his way over and snatches one, readying himself to turn back to head towards his room when the sound of footsteps making their way towards him perks his ears.

On instinct more than actual fear, Callum ducks behind the counter.

He realizes as soon as he does it that it’s probably silly to be hiding. But he’d gotten so used to running and hiding that a part of him isn’t sure he knows what to do differently now. So he crouches down and even though he knows it can’t possibly be Viren, the thought flickers through his mind anyway. It’s immediately followed by Rayla’s distant face getting further and further away from him. Callum holds his breath at the footsteps get closer.

But then he hears soft humming, and he realizes that he knows that voice. Callum shakes the nightmares clinging to the edges of his thoughts and stands up. “Soren?”

Soren freezes, his hand still out-stretched towards the platter of jelly tarts beside him. “Uh,” he says, “Hey.” He glances at his hand as if it is somehow apart from the rest of himself before he drops it to his side.

Callum steps from around the corner he’d been hiding behind. “You’re up late.”

Soren arches an eyebrow. “So are you.” He’s in plain tunic and trousers—startlingly casual and comfortable, and Callum realizes in the back of his mind that he’s almost never seen Soren in anything but full armor.

Callum ducks his head sheepishly at the comment. “Uh, yeah. Hungry, I guess,.” He brandishes the jelly tart that is still in his hand.

“Right,” Soren says with a quick shake of his head. “No, yeah. Me too.” He quickly snatches one of the pastries off the platter. He makes no move to eat it.

Between them is an awkward silence. The kitchen is cold without a fire in the stove, and the moonlight is barely enough to make out the edges of the counter and the silhouetted shape of Soren in the dark. Callum’s eyes are beginning to adjust to the lighting but he still can’t really see Soren’s expression. It’s just something about the way he’s standing—one hand covering another, face turned away, shoulders curling in—that makes the question tumble past Callum’s lips before he’s even really thought about it.

“You okay?”

Soren’s startled gaze flashes up to meet Callum’s in the dark. “Why are you asking?”

Callum lifts a shoulder. “It just seems like something is bothering you.”

Soren huffs a humorless laugh. “It’s… nothing, your Highness.” He turned towards the door.

“Ezran told me, you know,” Callum says suddenly. Soren freezes again. “About what you did. To protect him.”

Soren doesn’t say anything for a moment. When he does, the words sound stilted and clumsy. “I—I’m a member of the Captain’s Guard. I’m sworn to protect the king.”

“That didn’t make it easy.”

Callum doesn’t miss the way Soren won’t look him in the eyes.

“I was just fulfilling my duy.”

“He was your father—”

“It was an illusion—”

“But you didn’t know that,” Callum insists. “Did you?”

Soren shakes his head quickly. Dismissively. “Callum—”

“Soren, I—” Callum stops, then sighs.

He doesn’t understand why he’s so adamant that it was nothing. Callum had never known Soren that well—he’d describe their relationship was strained even when it was at its best—but he knew enough to know that Soren basically had worshipped the ground Viren walked on. He still remembers vividly the earnestness with which Soren had described his father when they were making a plan in the Storm Spire. _He makes you think that as long as you do what he says, you must be doing the right thing_.

Ezran had told him what had happened between Soren and Viren with eyes aged more than Callum was prepared to see in his little brother. And Callum hadn’t quite believed it at first.

“Thank you,” Callum says, despite all the other things he _wants_ to say. “I don’t… have much family left. And if I’d lost Ezran too…” Callum swallows hard against the idea. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do.”

Soren glances up and meets Callum’s solemn gaze for a fleeting moment. “Gotta protect the family that we have left, huh?”

Callum realizes with a sudden clarity that Soren has _none_ left. “Friends, too.”

Soren stares at him but Callum can’t read his expression in the dark. He gives a singular nod. Callum looks at the jelly tart in his hand, then holds it out towards Soren across from him. “Here,” he says. “Take it. I’m… not actually hungry.”

Soren seems to consider it for a moment before he accepts it. “Thanks.” He makes no move to eat that one either, and after a pause, drops both of them back on the platter. “I’m not that hungry either.”

Callum glances at the abandoned jelly tarts. “Something wrong?” he asks again.

There’s a flicker of something—rare and honest—through his eyes even in the dark. He shrugs. “You know,” he says, as if it’s a real answer.

Callum sighs—again—and nods. “Yeah.”

There’s another beat of silence. Heavy, measured footsteps echo down the corridor outside the kitchen door. Callum tenses—more out of habit than concern—and wonders idly when (or if) he was ever going to unlearn some of the behaviors he’d adopted in taking Zym aback to Xadia. The footsteps pass without pause.

“So,” Soren says, startling Callum out of his thoughts. “You and the elf girl?”

Callum blinks, the mention of Rayla causing his face to warm. He is suddenly grateful for the dark. “Er, yeah?”

Soren holds up a hand as if to signal he means no harm. “What’s that like?”

Callum isn’t sure why Soren is asking, but he sees no reason to not be honest with him. “She’s… great. She’s brave, and smart, and strong—“Callum cuts off as his nightmare crashes into the forefront of his mind again. Her tear-stained face, his name tearing from her throat, Rayla getting further and further away, his wings never forming, him never being able to catch her…

“You okay?” Soren asks, echoing Callum’s question from a moment ago. His brows are scrunched together in something like concern.

Callum scrubs a hand across his eyes. “I don’t know.”

Soren looks taken aback, and Callum wonders if emotional honesty was a completely foreign concept to him. “What’s wrong?” Soren asks.

“I—” Callum suddenly falters. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Soren rubs the back of his neck and averts his gaze. “Yeah,” he says, in a more subdued voice. “I’ve been having nightmares too.”

Callum looks up. Perhaps Soren was more intuitive than he’d given him credit for. “Do you want to talk about it?”

The question is met with a conflicted silence before Soren rakes his fingers back through his blonde hair and sighs. “It’s… They’re… usually about dad,” he says, the words coming slowly and carefully as if he’s testing them as the leave his lips.

Callum nods. “That’s gotta be hard,” he says, as gently as he can.

He sees the brief clench of Soren’s fist. “Yeah,” Soren says, his gaze distancing for a moment as if lost in thought—or memories—before he shakes himself. “But they’ll go away eventually, right?” he says, and the dismissive tone is suddenly back as if it’s a shield he can throw up in the middle of some kind of battle he’s fighting on his own.

“I don’t know,” Callum says honestly. “I hope so.”

Soren seems to sag. He looks suddenly so much smaller than Callum can ever remember seeing him. “Me too.”

Callum opens his mouth to say something—anything to reassure him, to let him know that he’s not alone, and that he doesn’t have to make himself small like that—but the footsteps are back and this time the door cracks open. A soldier that Callum recognizes but cannot name pokes his head in. “Soren,” he says. “It’s your turn for rotation on the watch.”

Soren stands up a little straighter, squaring his shoulders. “Thank you, Peter. I’m coming.” The other soldier nods, sees Callum and murmurs apologies for intruding before he backs out the door.

Soren moves to follow him, but Callum reaches a hand out. “Soren?”

Soren stops and looks over. “Hm?”

“If they don’t stop, you can talk about it, you know. With me or with someone else. It’s okay to talk about stuff like that. Good, even. It can help it seem less… scary.”

Soren hesitates, then gives Callum a quick nod before he pushes through the door and Callum listens to his hastened footsteps down the hall. Silence returns to the chill in the kitchen around him but Callum figures this is at least a step in the right direction. Soren had started taking steps to getting better, to talking about things he used to be told he shouldn’t, and that was a good thing.

Rayla’s face—terrified and falling—presses against his mind again and Callum groans, scrubbing at his eyes as if it will erase the image from his mind. Echoing the image is Soren’s voice.

_They’ll go away eventually, right?_

Callum repeats his answer to the dark, cold kitchen.

“I hope so.”


End file.
